Chapter 11
Victor
I’m glued to my chair, heart in my throat, so I couldn’t speak if I wanted to.
The way Sevastyan looked at me just now couldn’t have been more hurtful if he shot my other leg.
The sharp tone of his voice reminded me I am neither his guest nor boyfriend.
I sleep in a cell, and he is my abductor.
It’s very hard to see that on a day-to-day basis when he lavishes me with compliments and overwhelms me with physical affection, but that is the raw truth.
What if that guy in the boat is my only chance to leave before things really get out of hand? I’m Sevastyan’s favorite plaything now, but what happens to me when he gets bored? It’s not like he’d let me go, and we both know it.
If I yelled for help now, he could turn it into a joke and punish me once the man leaves.
If I make the stranger believe me, Sevastyan the retired professional killer, might take him down before the sailboat gets out of shooting range.
If I stay silent, I might be condemning myself to a life in captivity .
I watch the harmonious lines of Sevastyan’s back as he leans over the glass railing to yell something back.
My blood pounds so loudly in my ears I can barely hear anything beyond its thud.
He is so perfect. Beautiful, yes, but in a world where I was invisible, he sees something in me.
Something worthy of putting on canvas. Something that makes me worthy of his time.
If I managed to leave, is there any chance I would ever be seen like this again? Is there another man who’d look at my unimpressive stature and see beauty? Is vanity going to be the death of me?
For once in my life I’ve got someone’s undivided attention. It’s probably messed up that it matters to me so much, the proof of how unimportant I’ve felt all my life, but I don’t want to lose it.
So I stay silent, barely even breathing while Sevastyan gives the stranger directions.
Once he gets bored of me, and police discover my body in a wall of this house, they will call me needy, naive, and while nobody will say it out loud, they’ll all think I had it coming.
The wine beckons me closer as Sevastyan laughs at something the stranger said, so I pour myself some and gulp it down in two big swallows. I hope it has enough alcohol content to numb my self-flagellating doubts.
Sevastyan’s back relaxes as lean back without a word. I’m out of our unexpected caller’s sight, and since the horizon’s the last thing I want to see right now, my gaze focuses on my captor’s muscular backside.
Maybe I am stupid and too horny for my own good? I might be a big reader, but it’s not as though I went to college after high school. I don’t have years of experience in espionage or whatever the fuck else Sevastyan is capable of .
For all I know, this boat could have been another trap, a test set up by my captor. One I passed this time, but at what cost? I finish the wine, because I need to feel the buzz in my veins or I’ll go crazy.
The afternoon sun shines through between Sevastyan’s fingers as he waves goodbye before approaching my hunched form in silence. The weight of his presence is so palpable I nearly curl into myself further, but when he places his hand on my head, the touch feels light, even gentle. “Good boy.”
The relief these words bring me is so fucked-up. My stomach unknots, my shoulders relax, and I even smile up at him as if he didn’t scare me half to death.
I have to face the fact that despite my fragile position in this house, I like being here.
I like everything he cooks for me, I like not going to work, I like talking about art, I like the soft bedding I sleep in, I like his pet rat, who’s already started listening to simple commands when they come from me, I like the view from his windows, and I love being close to Sevastyan.
It’s like a new addiction, and I can’t get enough.
I had no idea just how touch-starved I was before I ended up here. Most of the time I don’t even think about my situation being dangerous. I fall asleep thinking about sucking his cock, and wake up already anticipating when he will come for me. Cuddling on the sofa is the highlight of my day.
“He won’t be a problem?” I ask as if that’s the most important thing, not escaping.
Maybe I never really valued freedom all that much and would give up on it in a heartbeat if it meant I could have safety and pleasure.
“No.” Sevastyan’s fingers push into my hair and massage my scalp before tugging. It seems lunchtime is over. “ I’m glad you didn’t do anything rash. I’d have hated having to shoot him.”
There it is, a reminder of who I’m dealing with.
A man who talks about killing a stranger as if it’s nothing.
And yet I’m so infatuated with him it hurts, because yes, I do like to feel so much smaller than him, and I love his confidence.
Sometimes he turns me on with rough touch, but then he can be so gentle, as if I deserve care and tenderness, even though I’m his prisoner.
I just wish we slept in the same bed, so I could melt into him every night. Such fantasies aren’t good for my mental health, but it can’t be helped.
“I learned my lesson. I trust you.” Probably more than I should.
I let him guide me from the table, already excited by the way he’s holding my hair.
“Really? You no longer worry I might turn your meat into stew?” he asks with a soft rasp.
“Okay, that’s not worrying at all, ” I snark as we pass through the living room, then up the stairs, into the bright studio space above.
It smells of the ochre I’ve been grinding into a fine powder, because the great Sevastyan likes making his own paint, like the old masters.
And now that he has me here, he’s been teaching me all about it.
I’m his apprentice, and I eat that up as much as the sex.
I’ve been itching to draw too, but apart from a few sketches, I don’t have that much opportunity for it.
I forget all about the meat stew threats when I see Ratimir scratching the bars of his cage at the sight of us.
Sevastyan really did have a lot of time on his hands before I arrived, because he’s created an elaborate network of tunnels spreading throughout the whole house, with several of them ending with cages filled with toys and treats .
I try not to compare myself and Ratimir, because our situations feel uncomfortably similar. The rat also seems very content in captivity. Safe from predators and doted on. What else could there be for him?
“Look! He’s happy to see us.” I approach the cage.
The rodent squeaks, and when I unlatch the door to his enclosure, he crawls into my palm and starts grooming it right off the bat.
“He really likes you,” Sevastyan says, pressing his sturdy chest to my back as he pets the rat’s head with his fingertip. I love the way the gesture moves both of the round ears at the same time.
“Let’s practice the trick,” I say excitedly and pass the rat to Sevastyan who gives me an appreciative nod.
He walks off and scoots on the floor as I grab one of Ratimir’s favorite treats.
I take a second to glance at Sevastyan’s impressive physique, amazed by how quickly I’ve gotten used to us being naked around each other.
It’s hard to blame a man with a body like his for wanting to be undressed most of the time.
Sevastyan looks into the rat’s eyes as he puts him down. “Victor. Go to Victor .”
Ratimir hesitates for only a moment, then turns my way and runs all the way to my foot, squeaking when he arrives. It’s the most adorable thing ever. I scoot down to him with a grin and hand him the treat. Ratimir’s greedy little paws are on it in an instant.
“Good boy!” I exclaim, but the cogs in my head jam as soon as I say it. Yep. I’m just like the rat.
At least Sevastyan and Ratimir both think I’m adorable.
We attempt a couple more tricks, but then the cage ends up closed, and our pet ventures out on his daily patrol of the endless tunnels that constitute his whole world .
“Ready to endure my intense stares for another few hours?” Sevastyan asks, approaching the canvas he’s refused to show me so far.
I’ll be in it, perhaps even in the lush blue robe hanging off a hook on the wall, but I wouldn’t dare argue with his process.
I can wait. The results are always flattering, maybe even duplicitous, but if he truly wants to picture me as more attractive than I actually am, who am I to argue?
I stop by the table where he’s set up more ultramarine blue pigment for me to mull when I’m not posing.
Just being in this studio is a dream come true.
All the paintings around us, the expensive pigments stored in an antique cabinet, the wall of brushes mounted for easy access.
It’s a world I thought I’d never have access to.
“I love your stares,” I say and lean against the table even though it feels a bit bold. I’ve never been much of a flirt, and my gaydar is shit, but when I am around Sevastyan, the air always sizzles with our attraction.
A smirk. The beauty spot above his lips stretches slightly as his gaze glides up and down my form. It feels like he’s touching me again, and I know that once he has me sit for him, I’ll have to endure a deep ache in my balls.
Fuck, never before have I wanted anyone this intensely, so maybe even if he does end up murdering me, I will at least die content
“Even when you can’t see me watching, like when you touch yourself in bed?”
My eyes go wide, my face erupts with heat, and my stupid injured leg chooses this moment to cramp. I lose my footing, so I press on the table to keep from stumbling, but I must have leaned too hard, and the whole thing tips.
I watch the horror unfold as if in slow motion. The bottle of linseed oil tips first, but the little plate containing a pile of ultramarine powder is right behind it, catapulted into the air so the pigment forms a cloud that rains down on me, the floor, and the nearest painting.
“I’m sorry!” I yell before the dust has any chance to settle. I can’t move, as if fear has frozen my joints in anticipation of a slap.
Sevastyan lets out a choked grunt, followed by words I can’t recognize, as if I no longer found English comprehensible. Or is he simply muttering in Russian?
My foot slips on the oil, and I collapse to the tiles, choked up with terror as Sevastyan faces the stained picture.
It’s an unfinished portrait of Ratimir and me.
Referencing Leonardo da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine , it has the rat sleeping against my chest while my eyes stare straight out from the canvas, now more blue than green.
Sevastyan grabs a dry brush and starts to wipe the dust with it, sometimes blowing on the picture, sometimes mumbling under his nose.
What if the oil messes up the work Sevastyan’s already completed? And what of the pigment itself? I’m certain he can afford more lapis lazuli, but what I’ve just wasted still cost a lot of money and labor.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, my heart pounding, and I try making myself useful by grabbing some paper towels to mop up the spilled oil. At least the bottle didn’t break.
I’m such a fuck up. No wonder I have no one who would report me missing. No wonder I’ve not had a boyfriend. No wonder my paintings never got exhibited.
I rub my eyes because they itch, but I bet I’m just smearing the pigment that landed on me. What am I going to do though? Scrape it off my body? It’ll be useless.
And to make matters worse, Sevastyan’s deep, annoyed breaths, his every step around me as he does what he can for the painting he’s trying to save is glitching my mind into unwanted excitement. This is not the time for that. Who does that? Gets horny while they’re crying ?
I’m so damn messed up.
Sevastyan groans, throwing his head back as he drops the brush and places his hands on his bare hips.
His buttocks flex, dimpling at the sides as he shifts his weight, contemplating the damage.
He looks so powerful, looming above me like a god among men.
He would have every right to punish me now.
To show me my place and teach me to never anger him again.
“I suppose... I’ll need more layers, I don’t like this cold hue on it.” His gaze sweeps the blue-dusted floor until it settles on me. His frown deepens. “Are you... hard?”
My stomach sinks.